Breaking Point
by Housapalooza
Summary: House, blinded by recent worse leg pain, pushes and beats Cameron away metaphorically speaking, of course until she can't take it any more... will House be able to make amends for his actions, and will anything blossom from the ashes?
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: Ripples in the Pond**

House was awakened by the squeal of tires from down his street. He shut his eyes tighter, wishing the morning away, begging his dreams to come back to him. Keeping his eyes scrunched closed, he reached out for his pillow, slowly turned over and slammed the pillow over the back of his head, blocking out the light of dawn and the sounds of birds chirping outside his apartment. He grumbled, but he couldn't go back to sleep. He laid there for another ten or so minutes, and then he opened his eyes.

A thin shaft of light shined through his window onto the floor, slightly illuminating the room. His carpet sent out tiny dust motes, floating around the room. The bed felt so much softer than than the cold carpet... he didn't want to ever have to leave it. The bed felt slightly empty... although it was spacious, he always wondered what it would be like to have someone there with him, day after day, week after week, year after year. If only. House moaned... Usually, his room was flooded with light from the window. It couldn't be any later than 8:00 if it was this dark in his room. There was no delaying it, he had to get up eventually.

Groaning, he massaged his leg, groped over to his bedside table, and grabbed his vicodin bottle. He popped open the bottle and shook out its contents onto the floor beside him. He grabbed two vicodin and swallowed them. He applied pressure to the side of his table and lifted his body about a foot or so off the bed. He swung his feet around, with a bit of complaint from his leg, and sat there, his feet dangling off the mattress. He got up off the bed, putting weight on his good leg only. Something in him knew this wasn't going to go well, but he sucked it up, took a deep breath, held it, and slowly put his weight on his bad leg.

A bolt of pain shot through his thigh unlike one he had felt before. It felt like someone had poured hot lava into his veins, like it was rapidly burning him from inside. He let out a short cry and stumbled, grabbing his aching thigh. The last thing he saw was the framing of his bed coming up fast, he heard a _thunk_ and his head complained of agony as well. He collapsed slowly on the ground, and then all was black.

House woke up slowly and delicately, squinting into the later morning sun. His head ached, but at least it had taken the pain of his leg away, for now. He inched his hand out from under him and rubbed his temple. There was a mark there, and a small pool of his blood on the floor. He sighed, but that made the pain in his head worse. He opened his eyes, and dragged himself along the floor towards his cane, grabbing at least 3 more vicodin and shoving them down his throat. He ever so slowly lifted himself off the ground, careful to keep the weight off his leg. Snatching his cane, which was hanging on his bedside table, he slowly and pitifully limped his way to the bathroom.

He looked at himself in the mirror. He must have fallen and hit his temple on the corner of his bed. The gash was long and thin, but deep, and it led from the middle of his temple to the edge of eyelid. Crimson red leaked from the hole, but the worst of the bleeding was over. "_Perfect..." _he thought, as he rubbed the stubble on his chin, "_the last thing I need is a another disfiguring scar..." _He hated how helpless he looked, a cripple who had to plan his day around the awful pain that dogged him all day. He grabbed a towel and some hydrogen peroxide from his cupboard, and dabbed at the cut 'till most of it seemed better. He then hobbled back into his bedroom and dried the pool of blood. _"Now I have two blood-stained carpets..." _He sighed.

He took the rest of his morning routine slowly, hoping not to spark another attack from his leg. While he was changing, he put on sunglasses, although it was a cloudy day, and a baseball cap, adjusting them so they seemed to cover most of his gash. He made himself a cup of coffee, to wake himself up, God knows he needed it. He grimaced as he took a sip, knowing he could have just waited for Cameron's coffee... it was much better. He looked at the clock on the wall over the coat rack as he walked out the door and towards his motorcycle. 9:23, the clock read. House moaned. _"Well," _He thought despairingly, _"At least I got my beauty sleep... this going to be one b!tch of a day..."_


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Ripples to Swells**

House swerved through the post-rush hour traffic on his motorbike, his eyes focusing on the road ahead. The adrenaline rush made his head scream in protest, but it didn't deter him. Shifting into 4th gear, he watched the speedometer inch its way past 70 mph, dodging and weaving past minivans and taxis. He braked at a red light, and took his helmet off for a second. He massaged his temple with his index finger, and looked at his fingertip. It was still red. Looking at the inside of his helmet, there was a small burgundy stain there as well... _great._ He replaced his helmet back on his head, wincing, and sped off down the street as the light turned green again.

The 330-hp engine of his bike whirred to a stop. Grabbing his cane from it's slot next to the tailpipe, he pushed the kickstand down and slid off the seat. Taking a cursory glance at the handicapped parking spot sign, he sighed. Looking around him, he did an odd version of his usual limp, it looking more pronounced than usual. Outside the Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital doors, he lowered his sunglasses and looked inside, as if to ensure there was no one inside he knew who would try to talk to him about anything, heaven forbid him.

He shuffled over to the doors and a mosquito flew into his eye. Instinctively swatting at it, he leaned over on his bad leg, causing pain to flow through his leg like lightning. Falling over for the second time that day, he found himself sprawled awkwardly on the grass. He took a couple deep breaths, massaging his still-aching leg, and agonizingly slowly picked himself of the ground. Brushing grass off his charcoal pin-striped jacket, he limped, ever so carefully, through the automatic doors.

He felt the cool blast of AC as he entered the hospital. Sun streamed brilliantly through the windows, which were decaled with pictures of a japanese maple and the name of the hospital. Nurses were busy at the reception, filing papers and other nonsense House really didn't have the time and patience for. Looking into the clinic to see what was going on, he saw Cuddy, with her back turned to him, calling out names from a clipboard of clinic patients. House smirked. It was normally his time to be doing clinic duty, but at least, for once, he had an actual excuse to be late. He noticed a patient point at him and say something, but he couldn't hear what it was. Cuddy started to turn around in his direction, and with a start, he dodged out of her view, and, as it happened, right into Wilson.

James Wilson stood there, looking with a peculiar look on his face, staring at House. His ironed chestnut suit-jacket complimented his brown hair and eyes, and his mouth had an ever-so-slight smirk on it, like he had almost expected House to show up, haggard, slightly bent over, leaning heavily on his cane. He chuckled, stuffing his hands in his jacket pocket and leaning on the wall next to him.

"You're later than usual, I see. Bad night?" House grunted.

"Leg." He managed to get out, standing up straighter. Wilson looked skeptical.

"Mourning over lost causes again?" Wilson questioned jokingly, but winced at the look House gave him.

"Jerk. I have no damn idea what it is." House snapped. "I could've just slept on it funny."

"That's... unlikely," Wilson said, "Hopefully it's nerve regeneration. Want me to schedule you for another MRI?"

House thought for a second, rolled his eyes and sighed. "Sure." He leaned himself off the wall and walked around Wilson, headed for the elevator.

"House!" Cuddy yelled from the clinic, holding a door open, "You're later than usual, and you missed your-" She was cut off. House looked back and saw a concerned Wilson murmuring to Cuddy. He couldn't hear much.

"House was complaining about his leg again. He says it's worse than it's been for quite some time. Give him a break for now, OK?" Wilson whispered, only loud enough for Cuddy to hear. "For once, he actually has an excuse to be late... just let him be."

Cuddy glanced over Wilson's shoulder and looked at House standing outside the elevator doors, waiting for them to open. "Okay," She said, "but don't let him think he's going to get away from anything more than usual. I still want him to work on his case." Cuddy handed him a file. Wilson took a short read of it's contents, hmm-ed, and jogged over to the elevators. House walked into the elevators and held the door with his cane so that Wilson could enter. House cast his usual awkward look at the ceiling, and looked over at Wilson.

"95 year old woman with PMS." Wilson said, handing the file to House, who smirked.

"Now **that** is why I love my job." He joked, looking over at Wilson. Wilson chuckled as the doors closed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Swells to Waves**

"Ladies and gentlemen... and Wombats," House shouted extravagantly, "May I please direct your attention to the whiteboard. We have a woman here with symptoms identical to PMS." House smirked. "But here's the catch," He said, whirling around to face his underlings, "It's **not** PMS."

"How can we be so sure?" Cameron inquired. House took a look at her for a moment. Her auburn hair tumbling over her exquisite shoulders... his leg pained, and he was forced to lean heavily on the whiteboard to keep upright. He took a deep breath.

"She's a little bit past that stage, if you know what I mean." He threw the file towards the table, but as he made the motions, his leg complained, causing him to stumble and for the file to miss the table completely, it landing not three feet in front of him. Chase looked incredulous, Foreman was confused, but Cameron noticed the stumble more than his bad throw. She put on a skeptical face, and went to go pick up the file.

"Is your leg okay?" She asked, looking up at his face. She handed him the patient's file, but he wouldn't take it.

"Since when did you give a dmn about my leg's feelings? He's very sensitive, you know." He stared passively at the file, and his eyes trailed to her hand, her arm, her torso... "I don't need it. You're the ones who're supposed to be reading it."

He turned back around to the whiteboard, leaving Cameron standing there, surprised, staring at his back. She sighed, and walked back to the table, dropped the file in front of Chase and resuming her position in front of the table, one leg draped over the other, her lips pursed tightly. Her stress radiated through the room, but House nor the apprentices didn't pick up on it. Chase opened the patient's file and gaped ridiculously at the first page. "She's 95!" He exclaimed.

"Chase, what is it with you and images?" House yelled. "Drug addicts, fat people, now old people?" Chase looked annoyed, but House continued, "Didn't anyone ever tell you beauty isn't skin deep?" Chase sighed, defeated, and House smirked. He wrote a list of everyday PMS symptoms on the board. After a thorough differential, House sent Cameron to get a vaginal exam, Chase to get a full body CT scan and Foreman to take an MRI. The latter two left quickly, but Cameron lingered. After she was satisfied with their privacy, she approached House quietly and nervously. She shivered, and put her hand lightly on his shoulder.

_Through blue eyes..._

It took all of the energy in me not to flinch. Only she would approach me so delicately. I moved my head slightly to the right so I could see her out of my peripheral. She looked up at me like a puppy looks up at it's owner when it wants feeding. It's really quite pitiful. My leg pained, sending a small but powerful jolt of pain through my thigh.

"What is it?" I murmured, not in the mood to have one of her emotional talks. He hand remained on my shoulder, if only grasping tighter, as I turned to face her fully, Her finger trailed down from my shoulder, down past my elbow, and linked around my wrist, goosebumps following their trails. I wasn't attracted to her, so why did I react so strongly to her slightest touch?

"I saw you stumble... are you positive your leg isn't having problems?" She asked softly, her thumb pressing on my wrist, feeling my pulse. I was tired of hr caring crusade. I rolled my eyes, speaking too loudly for the occasion.

"It's **fine**, thank you. Now why don't you go do some of that doctor stuff? Vaginas are waiting." For some reason, I softened, and my leg twinged, but then felt much better. "Get a nurse to do the exam, but even if you're free, don't come in here. Go find Foreman and help with the MRI." I looked away from her, giving her a non-verbal cue for her to leave. I heard her sigh, but she didn't move for a couple seconds, until I felt her fingers loosen, heard her footsteps and the near-silent squeak of my conference room door opening and closing. Then I sighed myself. The pain from my leg seemed to exhaust my energy. I walked into my office, hung my head, tired, and turned to close my blinds. As I did, I could have sworn I saw a flash of white and auburn brown...

_And through green..._

I saw his neck muscles tighten. He was containing himself. He may not know it, but I can be a lot more observant than I care to tell. He moved his neck slightly so he could see me, and the bottom of his chin barely grazed against my fingertips. I shivered again, and looked up at him, staring into his eyes. _I must look pitiful right now, _I thought, _like... a puppy staring at it's owner when it wants food._ I hate the way I act like that around him when we're alone, but I can't seem to help it. I still had feelings for him, but ever since our disastrous date that I forced him into, I never felt I would be able to get through to him emotionally.

"What is it?" He murmured. I sensed a minute harshness in his voice; he didn't want to talk about it, whatever it was. He turned to face me, and I felt his jacket slide underneath my palm. I rubbed his collarbone with my thumb, and slid my hand down his bicep and forearm, making a circle around his wrist with my thumb and index finger. I felt the pulse on his wrist quicken mildly. I smiled inwardly. Maybe there **was **more to this than met the eye. I thought out my next sentence.

"I saw you stumble... are you positive your leg isn't having problems?" I said softly, trying not to piss him off. He rolled his eyes, and I knew it hadn't worked.

"It's **fine**, thank you. Now why don't you go do some of that doctor stuff? Vaginas are waiting." His expression was hard and cold, but for a second I thought I saw it soften. Now why was that?

"Get a nurse to do the exam, but even if you're free, don't come in here. Go find Foreman and help with the MRI." He turned away from me, signaling he didn't want me here any longer. My eyes stung, but I covered them with a sigh, standing there, mentally pleading for him to talk to me. But he wouldn't. I walked away as silently as I could, leaving the conference room, but staying out of view to watch him. He sighed as well, walked into his office, and hung his head. A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. That was all I needed to know, House. He turned towards me, and I bolted out of view, hearing his blinds close. Had he seen me?


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: Suspicions**

House was suspicious. Had he or had he not seen Cameron "spying on him"? If so, why would she be? What was she thinking she would see? And why did his god-damned leg twinge any time they were together? He hoped it wasn't psychological again. If it hurt worse now than it did when Stacy left, what in God's name could be causing it? He twirled his cane in circles for what seemed like hours, feeling the hard wood thread through his fingers.

He wasn't attracted to her, he was sure of it. He knew that Cameron had harboured feelings for him for most of a year, starting after he had accepted her to work for him. He almost... regretted he had now. Things could have been much simpler. He really had treated her like dirt for some time, but then he realised her feelings for him. Not wanting to be as cruel as to break her heart, he wasn't as mean to her after that, but he still made a remark at her or turned her down just to remind her that he wasn't the same way.

But perhaps that was his downfall. Maybe he had worked so hard at convincing her he would never be with her that she thought he was hiding something else? That was why, he figured, Cameron agreed to come back after she quit, and why she forced him to go on that blasted dinner date. He shut her down, cold and hard, at Cafe Spuletto. For a year after that, they never spoke of it again... now it seemed she was back, in earnest. House sighed. He was doing that a lot lately. It was probably just Cameron caring... **again**. He had done a particularily brutal job of keeping his leg pain concealed to the public. Chase and Foreman were oblivious, of course, but they wouldn't be for long.

He popped open his nearly-empty prescription bottle and downed the rest of the Vicodin pills that were left without a second thought. The rest of the day, thankfully, was rather uneventful. He diagnosed that old woman, got forced to do clinic duty (which, of course, he didn't really **do**), avoided Cuddy, talked to Wilson. But the whole day, whenever he saw Cameron, his leg pained and he couldn't help but think that something with her was amiss. She continued to look at him strangely, a smirk playing on her lips. It puzzled him, and he was dying to find the missing piece that made her act so... self-assured. His best guess was that she had misinterpreted something that occured during their little chat this morning. He didn't want her, it made no sense. How could he have let something slip to her when there was **nothing** to let slip?

He pondered this last question as he limped down the PPTH hallway from his office to Wilson's. Wilson had his leg MRI scheduled for 4:30, and it was only 3:54, but House felt he needed someone to talk to. Wilson would obviously be the only one who would listen to him without laughing in his face. He hobbled quickly, and happily found the door to his office unlocked and open. He was probably having a late lunch. Pushing the wooden door open with his cane, he stood there in the open doorway.

"Wilson, we need to talk." He said seriously. Wilson looked up from a patient's file, his mouth positioned over a chicken club sandwich, which he set down quickly. He raised an eyebrow.

"We need to talk? Or you need to talk to me?" He questioned skeptically. House wasn't in the mood. He stormed into the office, rapped his desk hard with his cane, and motioned with his head to his balcony outside. Concerned by House's seriousness he followed him outside and watched as he paced for 30 seconds, then leaned on the ledge, not looking at him and announced quietly,

"I think Cameron's relapsing." Wilson was curious.

"She's frolicking in the bushes with Chase again?" House stared at him with a no-you-idiot look on his face.

"No, she's **caring**." Wilson felt a pang of pity for him. House couldn't stand Cameron, but at the same time he couldn't seem to work without her around, and Wilson had a sneaking suspicion it wasn't her coffee that was the underlying cause.

"It's about your leg, isn't it?" Wilson asked meekly. House lost his temper. He slammed his palm on the concrete ledge, whirled to face him and glared.

"Of course it's my leg! That woman has a damn suffering **radar**, for God's sake! She goes from hiding out in closets to obsessing over me in 2 weeks and I don't think it's because I took a couple extra minutes grooming this morning!" House's nostrils flared with anger, then he slowly turned and solemnly watched the scenery.

"Not that I did..." Wilson thought about his attitude toward Cameron. House was much more intolerant of her "relapse" this time than he had been before.

"Just handle it like you always do, House," He sighed, "In any case you'll have her back to quietly obsessing like she always does, just how you like it." House sighed as well.

"She thinks she knows something I don't about me. She believes she knows the answer to shedding my layers of 'misanthropy' and 'sadness'." Wilson watched as he said those words. Although he emphasized them to make them sound unnecessary, his body position moved as he said them, loosening and slumping over more, and he wondered if he thought there was really some truth to the adjectives, or if that was just what he thought Cameron knew about him.

"Well, if she knows something I don't after knowing you so well, you should try listening." House shifted, thinking.

"There's no point. She'd be no better than any psychologist. If I'm going to get meaningless psychobabble, I'd rather it be from someone who doesn't bore me to death." House looked up, with a pleasant smirk on his face. "Sorry about your luck."

Wilson's couldn't help but smile a little. House looked good, almost normal, when he smiled, but he would never want anyone to know he did it on a daily (okay, perhaps weekly) basis. Wilson glanced down at his watched, noted the time, and turned to face House fully.

"House, it's 4:25. Let's go get that leg MRI'd." House inhaled and exhaled slowly, then nodded, grabbing the plastic grip of his cane tighter as he walked towards Wilson's office door.

"Let's get this over with, then," he grumbled, "I've got more important things... wait... no, I don't. Scratch that. C'mon." Pulling the balcony door open, he walked into Wilson's office, taking a deep breath of the musty air. His eyes wandered to Wilson's chicken club. His stomach grumbled. It wasn't a reuben, but he **was** hungry. He walked back over to the balcony door, and before Wilson could walk in, he locked it, leaving a confused and angry Wilson outside. He stared at him for a couple seconds. House smirked, and, making sure his friend was watching, started very tantalizingly eating the first half of his sandwich. Wilson glared at him in disbelief, then started pacing around, trying to find a way out. He watched as House leaned over his maplewood desk to grab the other half.

Unfortunately for House, at that moment his leg exploded with agony (not literally, lol), sending him crumpling to the ground, his already aching head bouncing off the side of Wilson's desk and thudding violently to the floor. Wilson's eyes widened, and he acted quickly, jumping over the divide from his balcony to House's and running down the short hallway, his feet slapping the floor in a fervor. House heard snippets of a phone conversation... "Move the... leg... 4:45, please... Hou... bleeding..." And then the darkness overcame him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: An Ominous Nagging Feeling**

House opened his eyes, and a wave of pain shot through his head from the light. He abruptly re-closed them. He wasn't feeling... he couldn't see, he couldn't remember... he felt like it was all beyond his reach, dancing in his mind, dodging his feeble attempts to regain control. He thought he heard a voice, but it was distant. It sounded like Wilson... it became clearer and more pronounced, and the rest of his senses slowly came back to him. First, touch. He felt the carpett of Wilson's office soft underneath his hands. His gash had opened up again, and he could feel a cool cloth dabbing at what he vaguely recalled as it's location. A drip of the hot sticky liquid ran down his face and fell onto the floor.

The dusty smell of books and wood wafted into his nostrils. His hearing was crystal now, listening intently to the rustling of Wilson's shoes across the floor, and his murmurs to the nurses, who were chattering away. Three of them... no, two. He gradually opened his eyes again, squinting as the afternoon light flooded his retinas. _I'm facing Wilson's desk... and my back is to the... balcony door... right? _He was disoriented, and having trouble just remembering the exact layout of the room. Coming out of unconsciousness, he reasoned, is a lot like waking up.

And then he felt it. A tickle, if you please, at the back of his skull. He concentrated on it, and it went away. But then it came back. Trying to get rid of it, he raised his head, scratched it, and took a look at his surroundings. Wilson was standing over him, looking pitilessly at him. The... thing... tickled harder.

"Hey there, House. Enjoy your nap?" House feigned a yawn.

"Your carpet is really comfortable, you know." Wilson wasn't impressed.

"How was the sandwich?" House smirked, and Wilson smiled back, grateful House wasn't any worse for the wear. He had been out for three minutes or so. House grumbled.

"Could've used some more mayo. Help me up." Wilson shook his head.

"Until we figure out what this leg pain is coming from and how bad it is, we're going to get you in a wheelchair. It's on it's way." House glared at him.

"What do I look like, a paraplegic?" House snapped. Using his arms to lift his chest off the ground, he gingerly moved his leg. It screamed in protest. He grunted. Startled by his leg's angry pain, he lowered himself back onto the ground and sighed.

"Then again, maybe a wheel chair isn't such a bad idea." Wilson grinned knowingly.

"Good. I've already sent for it. Big surprise here, but a certain **someone** caught wind of the situation." House moaned.

"Cameron." He said, shifting position to make his leg more comfortable.

"I know, I'm sorry, but she specially requested to bring the wheelchair down. She'll be here in a minute or two." House's head was nagging him again. He concentrated, and a single word floated in his subconscious. _Cameron..._ and in a flash, he remembered.

_House didn't dream while he was unconscious, but he heard voices. First, a female, shrill and piercing. _

_"Well, if you don't give a sh!t about me then why do you trap me here?"_

_Then another, hoarse and raspy, unlike his own._

_"Because I want you here to do what your supposed to! If you know I don't __need__ you here then why do _**_you _**_insist on staying?"_

_He heard no more for a while, then a crash and a thud had awakened him._

Wilson stared, confused, at House. He had been spaced out for 30 seconds, not listening to him.

"House?... HOUSE!" He shouted. House snapped back to reality.

"What?" He slurred, looking tiredly at Wilson.

"You were... absent there for a second. Are you okay?" House spoke clearly now.

"I... I think so. I was hearing..." He said, the memories of the voices fading, "Nevermind. I'm fine. Is the chair here yet?"

As if on cue, the door to Wilson's office opened and Cameron walked in with the leather and steel wheel chair. House stared at her. The voices whispered to him, but he couldn't grasp them. The back of his head nagged him again, and his leg twinged, even though he hadn't moved it. She wore a navy blue shirt underneath her lab coat, which was slightly disheveled. Her dark brown slacks reached down to her shoes. Chestnut framed glasses showed her sea green eyes, which were looking right back at his. Her face was serious but worry was sketched in thick lines on her forehead.

"Dr. Wilson?" She said professionally, breaking their gaze to look softly at Wilson.

"Thank you, Allison. Can you help him get into the chair, please?" She smiled at House, and he turned his head over to Wilson, fixing him with an dirty look, but Wilson just smirked. He jumped as he felt Cameron's cool hands touch his clammy, sweating ones. He turned back towards her, and a chill ran through him. She was bent over him, and her hand was clasping his tightly. House reached out an arm to her. She smiled sweetly and looped it around her neck. He noted the subtle aroma of her perfume. It was too strong for late afternoon... had she put more on before she came here?

She put her arm tightly around his waist, and lifted him a foot off the ground. House's leg didn't bother him much, thankfully, he was concentrating on her. He shook involunarily as he slipped his hand down a notch on her shoulders accidentally. Cameron gave him a strange look, but he passed it off as pain. Using his good leg, he pushed off the carpeted floor and into the wheelchair, trying as best he could not to use Cameron as a balance. As he settled intp the seat, Cameron's grip slowly loosened on his ribcage. Her hand slithered from his chest along his shoulder, arm, and knuckles, to his fingers. For a fraction of a second, both index fingers connected, locked in a limp grasp. House's other hand gripped the wheelchair armrest, white-knuckled. He pondered his reaction.

_Why am I so... clammy?_ To stop his anxiety, he quickly released his hand-hold on her and settled totally into the wheelchair, his leg pain beginning in earnest. Wilson witnessed the whole event, drawing his own views. He thanked Cameron, and she nodded, exiting the room with a parting glance at House. Her pupils were dilated, and her face was blank and natural with a hint of... could it be lust? He focused and returned her gaze with a cold, hard look, unforgiving. Her eyes glistened, and lines showed on her forehead, but she drew herself together and left. House believed he heard a sniff from outside. He smirked inwardly, his snarky side satisfied. Way to show her who's boss.

"What was **that**?" he heard Wilson question. He wheeled himself around in a circle to face the oncologist with a feeble attempt at a poker face.

"What was what?" he replied innocently, but he knew the answer.

"Don't think I didn't see that little interaction there. It was close to intimate." House gave him an incredulous look.

"Intimate?! Don't be an idiot, Wilson. She can't help me into a wheelchair without having one of her 'moments'" He tensed his leg as it pained. "You see what I mean? She's going too far. I'm going to fire her if she keeps this up." Wilson was skeptical.

"I don't think you'd get away with it. It's wrongful firing."

"You don't think so? I'd fire her now if I could..." Wilson wouldn't believe him. He grabbed the pushing handholds of the chair, inching him towards the exit.

"We'll see. Let's get you to that MRI. You can have a nice chat with God about it. Then you can deal with Cameron." House exhaled. Wilson was right.

Sooner or later, he was going to have to deal with it.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6: Results**

_Through blue eyes..._

I felt their stares. I heard their whispers. They couldn't hide them from me. _What has he done now? _They were conspiring about me. A wheelchair. Hrmph. I probably look worse now than ever. More demented. More arrogant. More wrapped in my own insanity. I even force my friend to push me to my own MRI. What am I coming to? My leg is hurting more than ever, my emotions are unstable, and I'm generally miserable. With a touch of... guilt? Is that what guilt feels like? I can't remember. It can't possibly be guilt. Cameron is gone. She will be out of my life soon. She doesn't deserve her jo-

"**Augh!**" I grunted loudly, frightening Wilson and the rest of my medical paparazzi. Damn this leg.

"It's okay, House, we're almost there." Wilson consoled. Ah, screw him. The last thing I need is to talk to him again. He better stop poring over my psyche now, it's the worst possible time, really. I've presented my case: I want Cameron gone, sooner than later, he knows why, there's nothing left to analyze. He thinks there's something deeper to ever- Ow-**OW!** - Jeeezus. I cradle my leg in my hands and wait. It finally dies away, and I sit up as straight as I can, still doubled over in my wheelchair like a haggard beggar. Almost at the MRI now...

_and through green..._

I've got him now. I've led him on, and once he recognizes his emotions, sweet realization will pour through him. His pain has gotten worse seemingly out of the blue, and he's become more defensive and angry towards me. I see it, though, when Wilson or I aren't around, when he thinks he's alone, it shines through. In his office, when I spied on him, he hung his head, and that was enough for me to tell. He regretted his actions. The smallest betrayal of his enigma reveals a lot. Hanging his head symbolized his regret and that means he doesn't want to be mean to me. And you know what that means.

It's psychological. It has to be. His leg his hurting because he's forcing me away the same way it did when he shunned Stacy. I was so positive of this, I pulled a little stunt, brought him his wheelchair. The few and precious moments we held each other were bliss. I purposely led him on, showed him my intentions, and now he's physically noted his attraction, for sure. The way he grasped my finger was more than enough for me to know I had broken his mental shields.

And yet, his stare, his terrible angry glare tells me otherwise. Maybe this isn't all it's cracked up to be. Hopefully for him, his leg is healing and the nerve regeneration is causing the pain. I'd be willing to bet he'd be happier with a good leg than with me. I sighed, mentally pushing the arguing angel and devil off my shoulder as I checked an appointment log at the front desk. Maybe I'll pay him a visit... My mind wandered, as did my feet, towards House, thinking girlish thoughts about him and me, which were always interrupted by the memory of his handsome blue eyes glaring at me with such hate and contempt. No matter whether they were good or bad, I couldn't shake thoughts of House from my mind.

Wilson's voice, deeper than usual, crackled over the intercom.

"House, you've been avoiding me." House smirked from inside the MRI.

"Oh, you again. For Go...odness sakes, don't you have anything else to do?" Wilson chuckled back.

"I spend a lot of time hanging around the ER in here. Dying people give lots of prayers. I'm all-seeing, don't think I didn't see your little capers. Remember when you snuck into Cuddy's office and checked out her JDate boyfriends?" House was incredulous.

"How could you have possibly - you must really be all-knowing." Wilson howled with laughter, reverting back to his usual persona.

"You **actually **did that?" I was joking!" The two doctors laughed for a good minute or so, but Wilson's trailed off nervously.

"I'm going to start the MRI, so hold still and be quiet, alright?" House heard the intercom switch off, but before he did, he thought he head the observation room door open. Any other sounds were quickly drowned out by the whirring of the machine.

Wilson glared at Cameron as she entered the room.

"You're lucky House doesn't know you're in here. You don't have much time before it's over. What is it?" Cameron's face told him nothing, but her glassy and clouded eyes told him otherwise. She didn't say anything, she just stared, unmoving, looking at the MRI. Wilson paced his speech slowly.

"Cameron, what is it?" She breathed painfully slowly.

"Do you think the same way I do? About House?" Wilson watched her, her eyes still looking through the glass.

"I hope that if you're wrong, it's resolved before he breaks your hopes... and your heart. House may harbor feelings for you. Maybe it's just a physical attraction. It could be nothing. My advice, don't take this farther than you can take it back, or you may end up stuck in something you don't want to be in."

Cameron knew that much was true, but she couldn't spend the rest of her life knowing she hadn't tried.

"Or it could have been the best decision I ever made. Let's hope it's the latter."

Wilson opened his mouth to agree, but his eyes caught on the MRI scan photos. His mouth gaped even wider as he looked at the results. He put his index finger over his mouth to signal Cameron to be quiet, and pressed the intercom button.

"House, I'm getting the scans here, and it looks like-"

"Get Cameron out. I know she's here. And turn this blasted thing off." Wilson gestured for Cameron to leave, and she quickly exited, the sound of the door closing too obvious for House not to notice as the MRI's sounds whirred to a stop.

"She's not here... Listen, House, the results are showing-"

"What did she say?! You wouldn't lie unless it was important." House was adamant.

"She... it's not important! The results are-"

"If you still aren't willing to talk to me, it means she revealed something that you think would make me break her heart, and so you don't want to tell me it. If she's taken it that far, I don't want her to take it any further."

"House, please! You have to hear this! Yo-"

"Since you guys are such bosom buddies, I'm sure you'd be better at letting her down than me. Could you tell her she's fired for me? She has two days. Thanks." The sound of House crawling out of the MRI alarmed Wilson. He was serious. Wilson jumped out of the chair so that he wouldn't be there to get in House's warpath. He saw Cameron leaning on the wall outside. She noted his flustered look.

"Everything okay? Does he know I was there?" Wilson was concerned.

"I didn't say anything but he's convinced you were. He's going to be here any sec-"

A gigantic crash of breaking glass and an ear-grating thud interrupted their conversation.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7: Coincidence? I Think Not...**

_It was the voices yet again. _Recurring dreams are bad signs, _House thought, floating around in his subconscious. _Am I in a coma? _The voices he heard were distant and muffled. He concentrated on them, and the high-pitched shriek of before reappeared._

_"Well, if you don't give a sh!t about me then why do you trap me here?"_

_and then the strange, raspy voice..._

_"Because I want you here to do what your supposed to! If you know I don't __need__ you here then why do _**_you _**_insist on staying?"_

_He heard nothing more for some time, and then the voice returned._

_"I've been waiting to rid myself of you since I realized..._

_He didn't hear the rest of the sentence, as it was drowned by the sobs of the woman._

_"You've got 2 days."_

_And then the crash and the thud of a body hitting the floor that sounded eerily familiar. _

House awoke in an ICU room, with Wilson in a steel chair by his side. He mumbled unintelligibly, and shifted positions on the bed to look outside. He saw Cameron there, looking through the glass walls, tear trails staining her cheeks. House flipped back over to look at Wilson and angrily opened his mouth, but found himself speechless. Literally, without speech. Suddenly, running through his mental abilities in his head, he realized he was forgetting things. Where was he? This is an ICU room, he knew that, but what was the name of the hospital again?

"Easy there, House, take it slow. You suffered a major concussion from the fall, and you're probably experiencing selective memory loss and speech impediments. It'll be like that for a little while. Nod if you understand." House opened his mouth to say yes, but again he found he simply lacked the ability. He furrowed his brow, confused, but nodded slowly. A sad smile spread across Wilson's features, obviously glad he wasn't too worse for the wear.

"Good, good. Now, can you say my name?" House gave him an indignant, "of-course-I-can-you-idiot" look. He thought hard about what he had to do to speak, and inhaled, ready to speak. Suddenly, though, a memory he had forgotten reappeared in his head, and his mind switched to that subject.

"**Red!**" He croaked out. Wilson looked concerned. He gave him a strange look and leaned in closer.

"Excuse me?" House looked guilty.

"I like... red... lollipops... Wilson." Wilson... _Wait... James Wilson...that's it_... looked relieved.

"Okay, we're making progress. Now..." House went through a series of mental tests, checking his capabilities, and he proceeded well, talking as little as possible because of his raw and weak throat. That strange nagging feeling in the back of his head had returned. What was his brain hiding from him now? Once the tests were over, House asked for privacy so he could talk alone with Wilson. Taking a pen and a pad of paper from his bedside table, he wrote,

"**What happened after I blacked out**?" His writing was messy and shaky. Wilson looked away from him.

"House, in the 4 hours you were either out or asleep, your condition varied. I was outside of the MRI room, and there was a loud crash and I heard you fall. I came in the room, and you were unconscious on the floor. Somehow, you managed to push the desk and everything on it through the glass, which is now being replaced. You had a piece of glass or two in your arm, but nothing serious physically. We put you in an ICU room and monitored you. You were in a very shallow coma, but you came out of it naturally and were in a deep sleep for about the last hour. We didn't wake you so your brain could sort things out again."

"Cameron, of course, caught wind of the situation and has, naturally, been beside herself with worry. We also noticed that wound on your temple. It looks fresh. How did that happen?" House thought about what Wilson had said. He must of had that dream while he was asleep, because he woke up immediately afterwards. But what did it all mean? His dreams, his pain, that nagging feeling, what was it all trying to tell him?

He needed to get rid of Cameron, that's what it was. His body was manifesting his need to see her off. Fire her. It was necessary. The pain was nerve regeneration, which was good for him. It was all he really had to be glad about right now. As soon as he was up and about he'd send the little b!tch on her way. He'd do it himself. It wasn't business anymore, it was personal. He needed the change of staff anyways. Some new blood couldn't hurt, right?

His leg strongly disagreed. and he realized, glancing at his IV, he had been on morphine for some time. He turned, confused, to Wilson, and wrote,

**"Why was I on morphine? If I was in pain while was asleep, it would have woken me up, but is there any other reason?" **Wilson gave him a tired look.

"We gave you the morphine not as a painkiller, but as a weak sedative. I didn't think I should say this, because some people find it strange. You were having a very fitful sleep. You were tossing and turning and shouting out gibberish. It's no problem, though. Many people don't sleep quite right after concussions. Nothing to worry about." House was slightly relieved. He thought for a while longer, and as the memories of the minutes before he feel became clearer, he developed more questions.

"Wait... what was wrong with the MRI? I remember you trying to tell me something, but I didn't let you..."

Wilson sighed. He looked down and rubbed his forehead for a few seconds before looking back up, empathy etched on his features.

"I'm sorry... House. I didn't see everything on the scan, and the computer was broken afterwards so we didn't save the images... and it's still a possibility I was wrong, but I saw no nerve regeneration. It could be other things that won't harm you, or it could be..." He swallowed, "Psychological."

"I'm not saying it is," He continued, "Because I don't know for sure what **is **causing it. We'll see. But we're going to run a couple more tests to find out exactly what the trouble is."

House's mind was reeling. He almost felt like he was descending into shock. His heart sank. His leg hadn't changed, had it? He would be confined to his cane (_as bitchin' as it is_, he thought) and those terrible awkward stares for the rest of his life. His mind skipped from thought to thought, blocking out the inevitable truth. This couldn't be possible. He thought about the fall and wondered if this was all a very real hallucination. He knew how real they could be. All a figment of his imagination... Hopefully. He scrunched up his face and thought.

_House was furious. Crawling out of the MRI and snatching his cane from where it hung, he limped gingerly but as fast as he could out of the test room. He watched, with a scowl on his face as Wilson cowardly fled the observation room. Bursting angrily into the room, he was ready to go into the hall and give Wilson a piece of his mind, when he noticed the lingering MRI images. Spinning to face the monitor, he accidentally put weight on his bad leg again. Agony coursing through his veins, he stumbled and tried to break his fall by putting all his weight onto the desk. Unfortunately, it was unable to hold him, and it was sent into the large pane of glass, which promptly shattered. His hand slipped and his skull bounced painfully off the desk as it fell through the window, and he collapsed to the ground. He slowly welcome the smothering darkness of unconsciousness._

House's eyes darted from side to side as he remembered the voices he heard. The shrieking female, and the male... raspy and rough, almost like the person's throat was raw and they were unab-

"**OH MY GOD!"** House exclaimed.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8: It Finally Snaps**

How? How could he have subconsciously predicted his own voice problems? How was it possible? Was the woman Cameron? "You've got two days." Sounds like something he would say. He just had to avoid her for long enough so that his voice would return to normal, then he'd fire her. Picturing the memory of the voices, he mentally locked it tight so he wouldn't lose it. He wouldn't allow it, for the sake of his own sanity.

(One day later)

Lying in his hospital bed under the pale blue hypoallergenic sheets, watching General Hospital on the room TV, he was comfortable. He remained the same way for most of the day, eating his meals and making small talk with Wilson. Later that night, at the minutes before sunset, Cameron stopped by at the end of her work shift. House was already asleep, so she gently put her hand on his shoulder, and he jerked awake violently. Groaning, he turned to face his disturber.

_Through blue eyes..._

I froze. The confusion of being awoken lingering with me, I was defenseless. Staring into the gorgeous green circles that were her irises, I lost all that was left of my emotional cover. My mind went completely blank. My stiff, surprise-tensed muscles relaxed. My mouth gaped. The floodgates of my repressed thoughts opened. _My god_, I thought, _she's beautiful_. And how she was. Though her hair was hastily done up in a ponytail, he clothes were wrinkled and unkempt and her eyes were still slightly puffy and bloodshot from worrying over me, all I could see was her porcelain skin and her beautiful eyes, which were dilated and glazed over, like instead of looking at me, she was looking into me.

"What?" Was all I could manage. Her eyes snapped back into focus. She smiled, and I still couldn't help but stare at her. She had got me when I was most vulnerable, and I was helpless. Her voice was as smooth and soft as velvet over bare skin.

"Hi, House," She whispered, her voice hypnotising me. Realizing I was being done in by her feminine charms, I quickly rebuilt my wall of defenses, mentally screwing the cap back on my tightly packed bottle of emotions. Reverting to my cold, usual self, I replied, "I was trying to sleep. Go away." She frowned, searching for the better House of 10 seconds ago, but he was gone. She moved close to me, trying to seduce me back. But by then, misanthropy was king in my psyche. She breathed slowly, the cool currents of air caressing my face. Her face hardened, frustrated, and she left, her heels clacking on the floor. I saw her wipe tears from her eyes as she pushed open the glass door.

_and through green..._

He froze. Still shaking the sleep from his eyes, he was unable to set up his defenses. I stared blankly into his blue eyes, which were darker and greyer in the evening light shining through the windows. I watched as his whole body relaxed, the tense muscles in his forehead smoothing out. _My god, _I thought for the thousandth time, _he's handsome._ Though his eyes were bloodshot, and his hair and face were more frazzled than usual, all I could see was his blank face and those eyes. There were clouded over and distant, like he was looking into my soul.

"What?" His voice was crackling and rough, but it was still music to my ears. Coming out of my reverie, I smiled tenderly. Without anything to hold his emotions back, I saw a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. I whispered, all the adoration and love I was feeling sliding past my vocal chords.

"Hi, House." For a moment, I felt terribly awkward and anxious, and he chose that split second to switch back to his emotionless, sarcastic bstard mode. In the same way my voice radiated love, his screamed hatred. "I was trying to sleep. Go away." It felt like a jagged knife had been stabbed through my still beating heart. I reeled internally, and leaned in close to him, our faces mere inches from one another. Oh, how I longed to kiss him right then, to profess my feelings as strongly as I could. I saw goose bumps appear on his neck, but his face was unchanging. Defeated, I left his bed, tears streaming uncontrollably from my eyes; I walked, sobbing, out the door. _F you, House_, I thought, _I'm done trying._

_through blue eyes..._

_What have I done!? _I thought. _Has my brain conquered my mind? Have I worked so hard to become someone I'm truly not that it's overcome me? I'm not usually this cruel, so why am I now?_ I remembered all the abuse and let-downs I had put Cameron through._ How could I have done that to her? How could she possibly forgive me? _I didn't know at that time if I loved her, but it amazed me that I had been in denial of my true feelings for so long. I searched my mind for a second, and realized something was missing. A memory, something of significance to me. I ran through the previous days events. The horrible morning I had, the PMS Woman, My talk with Wilson, my fall in his office, the MRI, that worst fall that ended me up here, and the aftermath, including the rather boring events of the day. Something was missing.

I dismissed the thought, focusing on Cameron. I had to come up to her, tell her I was sorry, tell her how lovely she was to me... I had to find her, tell her I needed her, tell her I set us apart. I couldn't spend the rest of my life knowing I hadn't tried. I tore the electrolyte IV out of the back of my hand and limped/ran through the halls of PPTH, ignoring the excruciating pain his leg sent me.

_A/N: For emotional purposes, and also because it's my favorite song, imagine Coldplay's "The Scientist" in the background._

Come up to meet you,  
Tell you I'm sorry,  
You don't know how lovely you are.  
I had to find you,  
Tell you I need you,  
Tell you I set you apart.  
Tell me your secrets,  
And ask me your questions,  
Oh let's go back to the start.  
Runnin' in circles,  
Comin' up tails,  
Heads on the science apart.  
Nobody said it was easy,  
It's such a shame for us to part.  
Nobody said it was easy,  
No one ever said it would be so hard.  
Oh take me back to the start.  
I was just guessin',  
At numbers and figures,  
Pullin' the puzzles apart.  
Questions of science,   
Science and progress,  
Do not speak as loud as my heart.  
Tell me you love me,  
Come back and haunt me,  
Oh on I rush to the start.  
Runnin' in circles,  
Chasin' our tails,  
Comin' back as we are.  
Nobody said it was easy,  
Oh it's such a shame for us to part.  
Nobody said it was easy,  
No one ever said it would be so hard.  
I'm goin' back to the start.

I found her in my office, practically bawling her eyes out. A more saddening sight had never been seen by my eyes. She saw me, and immediately balled her hands into fists until they shook. Seeing her angry, my brain automatically holed itself back up in my cruel side, and I was transformed into the "Me" I hated so much now. She glared at me with such hatred I physically recoiled.

"Cameron," I breathed, "Listen to me, please, I-"

"**No!**_" _She screamed. "You listen to **me**, Greg! This is the last bloody time! It mystifies why you still beat me away! At the very least, you could show some compassion, but NO! Now, this heart is past the breaking point! It's torn in two! I'm finished! Congratulations!" She paused to draw a breath and I cut in, saying words I didn't want to say, my voice hoarse and raspy.

"Dammit, Cameron-"

"Well, If you don't give a sh!t about me, then why do you trap me here!?" I snarled and retorted,

"Because I want you here to do what you're supposed to! If you know I don't need you here, then why do **you** insist on staying?"

"Because-"

"I've been waiting to get rid of you since I realized..." She was sobbing now, "Ever since I realized your feelings for me, and now I have no choice... You've got two days." She looked me straight in the eyes.

"You want to know why I stay?"

"Yes! Why would you stay and ruin your heart trying to get through to me?"

"Because I love you!" My mouth opened, and before I could stop myself, I yelled,

"I don't care!" Liquid sadness pouring from her tear ducts, she threw her arms around my neck and gave me the saddest, most passionate kiss I'd ever experienced. At least if I couldn't express myself verbally, I could physically. I responded with so much force it surprised both of us. We were linked stronger than we had ever been, and my body screamed with happiness that I had finally released the feelings I'd been holding in. My bad side retreated, defeated. I tasted a tang in her saliva, oddly familiar. I pulled back, confused, and removed my hands from the back of Cameron's head. As I let go of her, I noticed she was swaying on the spot, her eyelids flickering strangely. I said the words my mind was so longing for me to speak:

"I'm sorry. For everything. I... I love you too." And then I realized what it all was.

"Oh..." We muttered simultaneously. Cameron collapsed the ground, an empty Vicodin bottle rolling out of her now unclenched hand. My leg screamed with pain, and I fell straight through the glass behind me. As I watched glass fly everywhere and foam starting to collect at the corners of Cameron's mouth, a single tear rolled down my cheek amid the chaos.

_Hmmm... How Shakespeare-esque._ Then nothing.


	9. Epilogue

**Epilogue: Reconciliation**

House was the first to awaken. As he became aware of his surroundings, he kept his eye closed. The fluorescent light shone dimly through his eye lids, showing bright colours, red and orange, instead of the comforting blackness he'd become accustomed to over the past 2 days. Opening his eyes and squinting into the light, he scanned his general area. The hue of the walls surrounding him told him he was in the same room as before, as did the cane he had left here as he fled his medical prison, searching for the woman that was the cause and the cure to his pain. He was hooked up to a morphine IV, presumably for his leg. He thought of the pain in his leg as he fell… he attributed it to the fact he was losing Cameron... Thinking of the chain of events which wound him up here, his eyes watered. How could he have been so idiotically ignorant? His brain tried to keep his enigma up by telling him he had no feelings for her, but his subconscious told him otherwise, and it's frustration manifested in his leg, and in that nagging feeling. It explained why it pained whenever he forced her away. He had never experienced a better feeling than the blissful absence of pain his leg was sending, happy endorphins draining out the white noise. Sitting up straight, he thought about all he had done to his most beautiful mistake, allowing the emotions of anger, disbelief, misery, and acceptance to flow through him, wave after wave.

"Good morning, House." Wilson said quietly. House fixed his bloodshot, glassy eyes on his friend, smiling sincerely for what felt like the first time in ages.

"Good morning." House replied. "You know, I feel better than I have in a long…" He thought of Stacy and him, and their moments together… "Long time..."

"Well, that's good to hear. When did you wake up?"

"About 20 minutes ago… was I sleeping well?"

"Like a baby. Is there anything you need?" House thought for a moment.

"The usual… dry, no pickles… and some orange juice." Wilson nodded, and left.

House paced the room, his leg surprisingly limber and painless. He couldn't bear to wake Cameron… grabbing a needle from a table, he was tempted to check if she was in a coma, just to ease his own mind, but he couldn't bear to disturb her peace. Pulling a book from under the old TV in his office, he sat by her bed for what felt like hours, but could of only been minutes, flipping the pages mindlessly. Wilson entered with his food, a confused look on his face. Like everyone else in the hospital, he was clueless as to what happened moments before their "Romeo and Juliet" tragedy. House had guessed this, and was also trying to determine when, if he did, he should reveal the secret behind it all.

Dismissing Wilson, he ate his sandwich quietly and slowly, the seconds ticking away by Cameron's bed. The guilt and sadness that was overwhelming him threatened his stoic silence. Quietly wiping his eyes to hold back tears, he read the book cover to cover, his food lying half-eaten on the bedside table. As he read the "happily ever after" ending on the last page, the inevitable tear fell on the paper. As the tendrils of moisture spread, he set the book down on the table, his vision blurry and watery. House blinked away the tears, and he thought he saw Cameron's eyes flicker. Almost leaping out of his chair, he kneeled at the side of the bed, and brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. Cameron cracked open her eyes a fraction. Both of their bodies were unmoving, except for the sporadic rising and falling of chests, as they gazed at each other.

"Hey…" House whispered. "I'm sorry."

(The Next Day)

A squeal of tires from down the street woke House up. Turning to face Cameron, still sleeping peacefully, he realized, he knew what it felt like to have someone there. And he liked it.


End file.
